


Waiting For Someone To Release Me

by ai_suru_hito_yo



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Heartbreak, Heavy Petting, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smut, Tags May Change, Unrequited Crush, harrassment, like nothing too bad just an obvious insecure jerk being insecure, not from the guys though and it's only in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ai_suru_hito_yo/pseuds/ai_suru_hito_yo
Summary: You met the boys of Queen while working at a pub during one of their gigs. You did not expect them all to be so ridiculously attractive, and you especially did not expect them to become a constant part of your life in any way. Takes place around 1972 as Queen are just gaining popularity in the London music scene.





	1. The One With The Top Shelf Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Christina Aguilera's "Genie In A Bottle" (also where the title comes from) and originally posted on tumblr for @rogerina-deacon's 1K Writing Challenge. I picture Reader as being right smack between John's and Roger's ages in this. Slightly spoilery note at the end.
> 
> Oh yeah, btw, I have a Tumblr! @ai-suru-hito-yo 
> 
> Feel free to come yell at me!

You were working to put yourself through college when you met the boys. You were a master at the oh so coveted position of server at an absolute dive of a pub, though you did have to admit the music scene there was great. The manager somehow had a knack for scheduling the best bands, though he himself had no music ability whatsoever, and this night was no exception.

There were two college bands lined up back-to-back, and since he claimed you had the most experience and were the most professional, your manager had insisted you help personally take care of the bands. Two others were chosen to help you with the task, and the three of you would spend the night being exclusive servers to the musicians.

The job could either be wonderful or terrible depending on the night and on the talent booked.

Your two helpers for the night, Colin and Rachel, had taken on the task of serving the larger, seven person group and left you with the smaller group, four lads who called themselves Queen.

You took a deep breath and braced yourself for the worst before making your way to the partially hidden booth at the back where Queen had set up camp for the evening.

“Hello, gents,” you called as you stepped up to the table. “My name is (Y/N) and I'll be looking after you four exclusively tonight. If you need anything at all or have any questions or concerns, I'm your girl. Now to start, could I get you all some drinks, perhaps?”

The raven haired one to your immediate right spoke up first.

“Oh, perfect, darling. We'll surely have a wonderful night! I'm Freddie, and I'll have a vodka soda please, dear.”

Freddie was quite handsome and exotic looking. You noted something of an accent to his speech that indicated time spent far from this little corner of London.

“Coming right up, Freddie,” you replied with a little wink, which in turn caused a big grin to spread across the man's face. He turned to the very tall man next to him and whispered what sounded like, “I like this one!” The man chuckled, his shoulders and his beautiful, dark curls bouncing. You watched as he turned his lovely smile toward you.

“I'll have a glass of grapefruit juice, please. I don't like to drink before shows. I'm Brian, by the way.”

“Lovely to meet you, Brian,” you responded. It truly was lovely to meet him, he was very polite and soft spoken. He intrigued you, like there was something much more to this gentle giant, something complex. Your gaze lingered on him perhaps a moment too long before you were brought back to earth.

“'Ere, love, what have you got on tap?” A high, raspy voice came from your immediate left, directly opposite Freddie. You turned toward the source and nearly did a double take.

_Are all the members of this band ridiculously attractive?_ You thought to yourself. The man (for upon closer inspection, this creature definitely appeared male, if not entirely human) who looked up at you was breathtakingly beautiful. His features were even softer and more delicate than those of the other two men you had already spoken to. Waves of shining, blond hair framed slim face from which huge, very round, sky-blue eyes stared at you. Eyes which looked you down and back up again. Ugh. One eyebrow was cocked and a smug smile pulled at one corner of the man's mouth.

“Have you got any cheap pale ales?” The man's nose even twitched when he spoke. _How cute_. You mentally shook yourself. Damn invasive thoughts.

“I've got Whitbread,” you suggested,

“Perfect, luvvie,” the man said, before shooting you another smirk and and slipping his sunglasses back on. Why he needed them inside the dimly lit bar you did not know.

“That's Roger,” Brian said. “The biggest 'member' of us all.”

“Oi! Watch it, Bri! I might have to--!”

“Okay, a Whitbread for Blondie!” you interrupted, sensing already that Roger might be a bit of a handful. Freddie clapped his hand together and laughed as Roger pouted. You ignored them and leaned a little closer to address the quietest member of the group. Once you got a good look, though, you felt your mouth go dry and suddenly felt like your throat was closing up.

The man sitting beside Roger was the most magnificent creature you had ever seen. He was somehow both cute and incredibly sexy as he leaned back casually, observing everything around him. The golden tawny mane that tumbled down the man's shoulders looked soft and luxurious, and your fingers itched to reach out and touch. He had a strong nose which was perfectly rounded on the end and drew attention to the plush, pink pout of his lips. His green-grey eyes seemed to take in every detail, and when the met your own, you felt as if the man were staring into your soul.

“Uh,” you addressed the man elowuently.

“This is our dear bassist, John,” Freddie offered. “He's also our tech wizard and our financier.”

You finally recovered from your small crisis and flashed Freddie a small smile before turning your attention back to John.

“A Jack of all trades, I see. Well, what about you, love? Would you like a drink?”

“I'll have three fingers of whiskey. Whatever is cheap will be fine, please and thank you.”

John's accent hinted at a northern heritage, and his voice was immediately calming to you. He was just as polite as Brian, and you already felt yourself swooning.

“Coming right up, John,” you said with a soft smile, and with one more glance at the man, you turned to make your way back to the bar.

As your poured the drinks, you eyed up the whiskey shelf, weighing your options. Someone who drinks plain whiskey must drink it because they like the taste of it, however John had ordered something cheap, so he must be on a budget. You quickly grab one of the top shelf bottles and pour out the desired amount, and told yourself you were simply providing good service as you placed it on your tray between Brian's juice and Roger's cheap ale.

The rest of the night passed smoothly, the bar was packed to the breaking point with patrons come to hear the live music, but thankfully no one decided to start any conversations with their fists, and it seemed no one had been sick on the floor, as had happened the past two times you had worked a live show night. Both bands had played wonderfully, and except for a small sound problem, which John fixed in about five minutes, the performances happened very smoothly.

You found you really like Queen, they were one of the better bands you had seen perform in your time at this particular pub, and they seemed to have real potential.

Freddie's voice was clearly very special, powerful and unique to anyone you had heard before, as well as a very capable pianist.

Brian was a sorcerer on his guitar, able to create sounds you had never heard before, sustain solos you thought would never end, looking like some ethereal creature under the stage lights while making it all look effortless.

Even Roger, you had to admit, left you cheering. You were very impressed by his speed on the drums, moving faster than any drummer you had seen before and creating strong, solid beats for the other three to follow. His voice was also very special. Halfway through one song, you could not seem to recall the name of it, he let out a high, sustained screech that yo originally thought came from a distressed patron. When the crowd started cheering instead you looked to the stage to see Roger eating up the attention. You paid closer attention after that and soon realized the man had an amazing falsetto voice, and could hit notes you thought maybe only dogs cold hear.

You were not really sure what to think of John for most of the night. You did not see him sing much, if at all, and he stayed back from the crowd at first. You thought he seemed very shy and nervous which seemed strange for a member of a rock band. Around halfway through their set, Queen played their longest song of the night, a song Freddie introduced as “Liar”. The song seemed to instill some confidence in John, for soon he started dancing around in place and seemed to enjoy the music more. There came a call and response portion toward the middle, and you found you could truly not look away. Freddie leaned back against John as they shared a microphone and the crowd went wild. You thought you could even hear a few people shouting back “all day long!” at the appropriate times. They were captivating, and it was clear to you that John did know haw to work a crowd, even if he was too shy to actually do it. Then came the bass solo. You watched closely as John went wild, strumming hard and fast, and you felt your mouth go dry again watching his rather large hands coax such raw sound from his bass guitar. You cheered along with the crowd as John executed a slide that sent shivers down your spine. He caught your eye and smirked, and for the rest of the night, John was unstoppable. He danced around the stage, and occasionally jumped up to the drum riser to reconnect with Roger. Together they were very clearly a powerhouse, a strong and stable foundation to build upon.

The band had just left the stage and you were making your way back to them to check in and tell them you loved their performance when you thought you heard someone shout your name from across the pub. You turned toward where you thought it had come from, but did not see any familiar faces, only people chatting amongst themselves and gearing up to move along home for the night. You shrugged it off and made your way to the table where you could see Freddie still clearly hyped up on the adrenaline of performing.

“Hello again, gents,” you said as you approached. “Just checking in again, can I get you anything else?”

“(Y/N)! Dear how was it? Did you enjoy the show?” Freddie was bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of you, skin and hair still glistening with sweat, a bright, almost manic glimmer in his eyes. “Honestly, please tell me honestly, did you like us?”

“Freddie, yes!” you answered with a laugh. “Queen is wonderful. Really, you are. I've seen a lot of bands come through here, a lot of really good bands, but you all are really something else. I was captivated by each of you from the first note.”

Freddie screamed before grabbing you around the shoulders and smashing you against his chest in a bone-crushing hug. It was a little gross, as he was still so sweaty and it had soaked through his stage costume, but you still brought your arms up and returned the embrace. You were finding you liked Freddie more and more as the night wore on.

“Alright, Fred, give the poor thing room to breathe!” came Brian's voice. “I'm sure (Y/N) would like to go home and not have to nurse any cracked ribs.” Freddie gave you one last squeeze and a quick kiss on the cheek before letting you go and turning to pack up his own gear. “Please forgive him. He's like a puppy sometimes, he gets way too excited after a show, especially with a good crowd like this.”

“It helps that they had great music to respond to. I mean it truly, Queen is great. You'd have to be dead not to be moved by at least one of your songs.”

Brian laughed at that, shoulders and curls shaking once again, and said, “Well, thank you for such honest and creative approval.”

“You're welcome! Now really, is there anything I can get for you gents? Perhaps one more drink to toast a great show?”

“I'll take another drink and your number,” came that now familiar, raspy voice. You turned around to see Roger, already changed out of his stage clothes, approaching you with a smug look on his face. He was actually a good bit taller than you originally thought he was. Perhaps it was a trick of perception, with him sitting behind the drums for the last hour, your subconscious just assumed he would be significantly shorter than his band mates.

“Seriously, Rog?” Brian cut in before you could answer. “Cool it, eh? (Y/N)'s on the clock.”

Roger opened his mouth to argue, but you cut across him. “I'll go grab those drinks, eh?”

“Only if you'll have one with us!” Freddie called to you. “Please?”

You sighed. You really should refrain from drinking on the job, but you were also assigned to take care of Queen and see to any doable request they may have. You figured one little drink would be fine.

“Oh all right, Freddie,” you answered, shaking your head. “Same for everyone?”

“Perfect, darling!”

“Make mine a lager, please? I'd like something a little stronger now, post show.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yes, please,” came a voice you had not heard since before the show started. John was watching from where he had a long, rectangular case, which you assumed held his guitar, tipped against a wall next to what looked like a plain-looking cabinet speaker. “I'll come help you.”

“Okay,” you said with a small smile. “Thank you, John.”

You turned back toward the bar and felt rather than heard John follow closely behind you. He sat on a stool at the end of the bar while you ducked behind the counter, fixing everyone's drinks and finding one for yourself.

“So did you really like it?” John asked suddenly, his finger tracing through a ring of condensation left behind on the bar. He glanced up at you from beneath his long eyelashes before he looked back down to the moisture on the dark wood. Seeing the confused look on your face, he added, “The show. Did you really like our music that much?”

“Oh! Yes!” you said, putting your drink pouring on hold to lean against the bar in front of him. “I meant every word I said. I truly think you four have a lot of potential and I cannot wait to see what Queen becomes. You really blew me away with that solo of yours, John. I was truly captivated.”

John looks up at you and smiles then, and in that moment, you knew you were in trouble. The way his eyes crinkled around the edges sent your heart aflutter, and you were certain the little gap between his perfect front teeth was the cutest thing you had ever seen. You knew you had to see him again, and were just about to ask when and where their next show was when a familiar voice boomed down the bar at you, making your skin crawl.

“Oi! What's it take for a real man to get service around here, eh?!”

Your eyes widened as you turned, horrified, to face your absolute prick of an ex boyfriend, Charlie.


	2. The One With The Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your ex causes a scene which leads to one hell of an end to the night. But it’s not all bad, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of alcoholism and alcohol abuse, homophobia (not from the boys!), language, mild violence, harassment

You froze, eyes wide, completely unable to move as a chill ran down your spine. You knew you had heard someone calling your name earlier. It had to be him. It simply had to be.

John's face turned from confusion to concern in front of you. You very much hoped he had not heard the rude comment Charlie had just made, for you had the feeling it had been directed at John, as he was the only person you were talking to.

“(Y/N), what's wr-”

“”Ey!” Charlie shouted in your direction again. “(Y/N)! I know you can 'ear me. Come on luvvie, don' ignore me. Wassit take for a man to get a drink 'ere? This is a pub, innit?”

John seemed to register your discomfort then, and started to turn toward Charlie before you shook your head at him. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration and confusion, but he remained facing you. You took a deep breath before turning away, saying to John, “I'll handle him and then I'll be right back, okay?”

John nodded and you plastered on your fakest smile.

“Charlie. Long time no see. What are you drinking?” Charlie ignored your question as he leaned over the bar, drunkenly swaying and nearly losing his balance.

“See I knew you 'eard me! Come a little closer, luvvie, don' be shy, now! You never were a shy one 'round me!”

You felt your cheeks heat a little as some people down the bar had turned to look at you and Charlie. You knew you would likely not get out of this without Charlie causing a huge scene first. Part of you was aching to look back at John for support, but another part of you told you that was not a good idea.

“Yeah, sorry Charlie, I was with another customer. I'm free now, though, so what can I get you? An ale? Lager?”

You tried to tempt him with something a little less potent, as it was clear to you that he had too much already. In his state, however, he was having none of it.

“Tell me, (Y/N), why did you leave? We 'ad a good thing goin', yeah? You an' me, we was good for each other. An' you just walked away from it.”

You were starting to feel nauseous, partly from the memories of nights spent with Charlie just like this, him drunk out of his mind, and you either trying to drag him from the bar, or drag him off the floor outside his flat and into bed to sleep it off.

“You know exactly why, Charlie. Now if you don't mind, I am on the clock and we are very busy tonight. Either place a drink order, or leave. I have other customers to attend to.”

“Oh yeah, 'other customers', I see,” Charlie said narrowed eyes. “You mean that band of poofters you been trailing like a cheap whore all night?”

You did look toward the end of the bar then to see if John had heard this, only to find he had left his seat and it was instead taken by a young woman who seemed to be in her own world. Dread settled into your stomach. John surely must think poorly of you now, knowing you had been associated with a chump.

“Don't say that Charlie. They're actually perfectly fine gents, and their inclinations are none of my business, as our interactions are strictly professional.”

Charlie ignored your comment, his expression turning predatory. Despite the solid wood bar between you, the look made you take a step back.

“Ditch 'em and come 'ave a drink with me. For old time's sake. We can relive the good days, I'll show you a good time none of those fairies ever could.”

You were truly angry now. You had no idea what you had ever seen in this idiot, but you were disgusted by his language and his behavior, especially toward a bunch of complete strangers.

“I can't. I told you, I'm working. And I think you need to le-”

“Bunch of poofters is what they are, dressing like that, paintin' their fingers an' faces, an' all that 'air. I actually thought that drummer was a chick, you know? What kind of man looks and sounds like that? He better watch himself, one of these days he'll get 'is arse kicked for prancin' around like that.”

“You mean like this?” a now familiar voice came from behind Charlie. He whipped around, nearly losing his balance, to reveal Roger standing right behind him with a murderous expression on his face. Before you could react, he brought his arm back and threw his whole body into the swing he aimed at Charlie. You watched in horror as you heard a sickening crunch, and Charlie immediately hit the floor. Roger shouted and immediately clutched his fist to his chest. He leaned over Charlie, who was still on the floor, completely dazed, and shouted down at him, “You are one sick fuck, talking like that. It's one thing to insult me, but when you come after my band or after innocent, hard-working people, that's when I have a problem.”

A movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention, and you looked up just in time to see John return with the booking manager, Mike, who caught the tail end of Roger's tirade. The bar had gone silent, and you could see Brian toward the back of the crowd now gathered around, craning his long neck to try and figure out what was happening. He soon disappeared, and you stood frozen, staring at John like a deer caught in headlights. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, moving forward slowly to collect Roger and pull him away from Charlie.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mike had turned to you now, and you could no longer hold back the tears that had been threatening to escape since you first heard Charlie's voice.

“Um, well, you see,” you started, but you were unsure how to continue. You did not want everybody knowing your business, but you wanted to make sure your manager knew that Roger was provoked into action as well.

“That man,” John spoke up, pointing to Charlie on the floor. “He was...saying some rather rude and terrible things about (Y/N). I think he had too many and was absolutely out of his mind, but he didn't seem inclined to stop when asked, either. I don't know when my friend got involved, as I left to find you.”

“Uh huh,” Mike responded, glaring daggers at Roger, who was still cradling his hand close to his body. Suddenly springing into action at Roger's obvious discomfort, you reach under the bar for a clean towel and dump a hefty scoop of ice into it, wrapping it up before moving around the bar toward Roger. You pressed the towel lightly to his hand, causing him to hiss in pain.

“Sorry, sorry!” you exclaim, you only wanted to help him after what he had done for you.

“It's okay,” he said through gritted teeth. He took the ice pack from you, took a deep breath, and thanked you for it.

“Perhaps we should take this to the office,” said Mike. “All five of you! And somebody get that idiot out of here!”

* * *

Once outside the office, Mike told you to wait while he talked to the band first. After about 15 minutes of explanation followed by shouting, which mostly seemed to come from Roger and Freddie, the door flew open again, and the boys stormed out, each with a thunderous expression on his face.

“(Y/N)!” came Mike's voice from inside the office. This was it. You knew you were done at the pub, and all thanks to Charlie. Would the man ever leave you alone?

You sat down in one of the chairs in front of Mike's paper-strewn desk, noticing the now sopping wet towel you had filled with ice for Roger sitting in the other one.

Mike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before addressing you. “Frankly, I'm rather disappointed in you, (Y/N).”

You felt a spike of anger at Mike's words. None of this was your fault. You had tried to handle the situation professionally and quietly. Why were you being reprimanded? You decided to remain quiet and listen to what Mike had to say before arguing.

“Turn in your apron and your key after your shift is over. You're done here.”

“What?!” You felt as if you had been slapped. You did not understand. You had done nothing wrong. It was not you who threw any punches or said any one of the rude things that had flown across the bar that night. “I didn't do anything wrong, Mike!”

“You were involved in the situation. I cannot tolerate any of this nonsense.” Mike sighed deeply before continuing. “We're trying to run a respectable business here, and now I have to do some major damage control.”

“How is firing me damage control?” you argued. “I was simply doing my job, you know, trying to serve patrons! You said not four hours ago when I came on that I was your best, most professional server.”

“And you are! But every single person who witnessed that saw you as part of it! What am I supposed to do? If I keep you on and any of those people come back to see you still here, do you know what that would do for this establishent's reputation?”

“Do you not think people will notice when you fired your best employee over a matter that wasn't even her fault?”

“My decision is final, (Y/N). I cannot tolerate this. Finish your shift and turn in your apron and key.”

You sat there for a moment, head cocked in contemplation over everything that had happened in the last 30 minutes. Then, deciding you had nothing to lose, you stood up, removed your apron, and tossed it and the wet towel directly onto your now ex-manager's paperwork. You crossed to the door, threw it open with a satisfying _bang!_ and walked out with your head held high, pausing only to look back with a very clear, “Fuck you, Michael.”

* * *

You sped back out to the bar area, hoping desperately that the boys would still be there. It was almost empty, all the patrons, including Charlie, having cleared out. The only people left were your ex-coworkers, the bands, and the sound technician. You spotted Queen still shuffling around their equipment, which was now entirely packed and ready to be loaded out. You rushed over, calling out as you came closer. All four heads turned toward you, and you immediately made a beeline for Roger, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close.

“Oi watch the hand!” he said, before seeming to realize what was happening. He gingerly wrapped his arms around your middle, giving you a little squeeze in return before pulling back. “What's that for?”

“Thank you, Roger. For sticking up for me. I mean, I know you were sticking up for your friends, and that he said terrible things about you, too, but I heard you outside Mike's office earlier. I heard you tell him the awful things Charlie was saying to me. Thanks for trying to get me out of trouble.”

He looked at you with an unreadable expression before smiling softly. He looked away nervously before bringing his good hand up to rub at his chest beneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. “It was nothing. Somebody had to shut him up.”

“It wasn't nothing, Roger. It means the world to me. You and John both tried to help, and I couldn't possibly thank you enough. I really couldn't.” You tried to sound as genuine as possible as you turned to look for John, but he was nowhere to be found. Before you could ask, Freddie had moved forward to hug you as well.

“What happened, dear? Is everything sorted out?”

“Well, sort of,” you said, looking between the three men who were watching you.

“He fired you, didn't he?” Brian asked.

“Don't be silly, Bri, why would he do that? (Y/N) did nothing wrong!” Freddie admonished him.

“Actually...,” you made eye contact with Brian, who immediately pursed his lips.

Freddie gasped, “No! Certainly not? Why would he do that?”

“He said he 'cannot tolerate that sort of nonsense, we are trying to run a respectable business here and now I have to do some major damage control' whatever that's supposed to mean.”

Roger spoke up at that, looking incensed once again, “I'm gonna talk to him. He can't do that!”

“No!” you shouted a little too loudly. Roger turned to you with a look of surprise. “No, Roger,” you said softly. “Thank you, but don't worry about it. I kind of already made it final myself. Even if he wanted me back, I wouldn't do it.”

“What happened in there?” Brian asked.

You explained to them what you did and watched as smiles grew on their faces.

Freddie took one of your hands between his. You felt yourself growing more fond of this ragtag ensemble by the minute. “He certainly deserved that, dear. Though we should probably be thankful our dear drummer hasn't landed himself in the slammer. I am terribly sorry for this whole mess. You certainly didn't deserve any of this, you are completely innocent.”

“It's okay Freddie. It was probably time for me to move on anyway. I was getting kind of tired of this job and my class schedule is picking up, I should find a different job. Anyway, enough about me. What happened with you four in there? To be honest, after the way Mike overreacted with me, I'm also kind of surprised you haven't been arrested, Roger.”

“Well, he wanted to. No matter how much I tried to tell him he indirectly threatened me. Brian finally talked him down, though.”

You turned toward Brian expectantly.

“I convinced him that if he didn't call the police or let this...situation become more known about than it already will be, we would finish packing up and leave and never come back again. He agreed to the terms after telling us that if he saw any of us within a one block radius again, he'd call the police.”

You scoffed. “What a prick. Besides, he doesn't have say over the whole block or who is on it. I'm finding myself more and more glad to be rid of him.”

“It's a shame, though. I liked playing here. Good acoustics, great crowd.”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, Brian,” you told him with a genuine smile. “I have a feeling Queen is destined for much better venues than stinky, dingy pubs on poorly lit streets.”

At that moment, Mike came out of the office, his hands full of the wet bar towel and apron you had tossed at him. Freddie saw him, too, and immediately prompted Roger and Brian into packing up the rest of their gear and leaving before “that complete berk decides to call the cops anyway”. You offered to help since Roger was injured, and you felt it was the least you could do for their kindness and all the trouble they had faced over the course of the evening. You quickly ran to the back, grabbing your coat and purse, before dropping your key on the table where Mike would find it, before joining the three men again. It was then that you remembered their fourth member was still missing.

“Where's John?” you asked, looking around the bar but seeing no sign of him. Brian looked around as well.

“His coat and all his equipment is gone. He must have packed up already and decided to wait outside. I think tonight may have been a little bit too much action for him.”

“Oh,” was all you said as you grabbed Roger's cymbal case. You felt especially bad now about how the evening had gone. You knew none of it was your fault, but you had been having such a wonderful conversation with John, it had been a good night only to fall apart in the blink of an eye.

Once outside the pub, you followed the boys over to an old beater of a van where you could just barely see John's silhouette in the front passenger's seat. John spotted all of you coming down the road and quickly exited the van, moved to the back doors in just a few long strides and opened them to load the equipment in. As you approached you tried to catch John's eye but he stayed focused on each piece of equipment as he fit it all into the van with practiced precision. You felt quite disheartened, and knew for sure then that John wanted nothing to do with you anymore. You passed off the cymbal case as the last piece of equipment, taking care not to brush John's fingers with your own in the process. You stepped back as they inspected the fit and closed the doors up. Roger then passed the keys to John, claiming he couldn't drive with his bruised hand. John took them and immediately climbed into the passenger's seat.

You looked around before deciding to take a shortcut home, and turned back to say goodbye to the three men still gathered around the back of the van.

“Well, goodnight, gents. It's been lovely meeting you, and it was a good night for the most part. I look forward to seeing where your future takes you!”

“Where do you think you're going, dear?” Freddie asked.

“Um...home?” You were unsure why it came out as a question, as that was the only place you would be going at that time of night.

“You're going to walk?” Brian asked. “At two in the morning, down a less-than-reputable London street?”

“Get real,” Roger interjected. “Come on, we'll give you a lift.”

“It's okay guys, I really don't live very far, and I know a shortcut,” you countered, but they were having none of it.

“I'm afraid it's not a request,” Freddie said, reaching toward you. He took your hand and pulled you toward the front of the van. “Come on, you'll sit up front with Deacy.”

“Deacy?”

“Yes. Darling Deacy. It's short for Deacon,” Freddie explained, but when you still looked confused, Brian clarified.

“He doesn't mean like a priest. Deacon is John's last name. John Deacon, Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury, and Brian May.”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, smacking your hand to your head. “Sorry, the last hour has been such a bad trip. I think my brain is fried.”

Brian smiled his kind smile and waved you off. “It's alright, you didn't know. Let's get you home so you can sleep it off, yeah? I need the same myself.”

Though you were reluctant to climb into the front next to John, Freddie insisted, and you knew it would not be a very long drive. You were sure you could tough it out long enough to get home, and it would be that much sooner you would be able to get into bed and not have to face reality until much later tomorrow. You climbed in and closed the door, glancing up at John who was staring straight out of the windscreen.

“How far do you live?” he asked quietly as the other three climbed into the single bench seat and tried to make themselves comfortable.

“Um, about ten blocks that way,” you pointed to the left, and John glanced that way. “It's easy to get to, only one turn from here.”

“Alright,” he answered, looking forward again. “Freddie and Roger live about four blocks that way, mind if I drop them first?”

“Not at all,” you answered, and you settled in for a quiet ride home.

* * *

The moon shone brightly above you as Freddie and Roger disappeared safely up the steps to their block of flats. You watched it out your window as John started to pull away, and you heard him sigh. You checked behind you to see that Brian was fast asleep before turning to address the elephant in the room-well, van.

“John?” you asked quietly.

“Yes?” he responded, eyes not leaving the road as he stopped at the intersection.

“John I know we don't really know each other, but I have to ask you, did I do something wrong?”

He did turn to look at you then, his head moving so fast you thought you heard a crack, hair flying wildly around his shoulders. You quickly tried to explain yourself, hoping to save some face.

“I just mean, like, I thought we were having a nice conversation and I was really loving the music, and I really mean that, John. I love Queen's music and I really think you all are great-”

“(Y/N).”

“-and I was enjoying talking with you and it seemed like you were having a good night, too, but then Charlie came in and it was all such a mess and-”

“(Y/N).”

“-I really would like to come see you play again but if you don't want me to I understand. I would just like to know so I don't make a fool of myself again-”

“(Y/N)!” John's shout in the closed space finally got your attention. You quickly looked back to see if he had woken Brian, but the curly hair man was still sound asleep. You turned around again as John pulled to the curb and put the van in park. He finally turned to face you, and you felt a short lived sense of relief seeing those green eyes once more before panic settled in.

“(Y/N), please stop. None of that was your fault. None of it. If anyone is to blame for how things turned out, it's me. You should be the one who doesn't want to see me anymore.”

“What?” your voice jumped an octave, and you heard Brian snuffle behind you in his sleep. You immediately quieted down again before continuing. “What do you mean I should be the one who doesn't want to see you? What are you talking about?”

“Well, it's my fault Mike saw what was happening and saw you in the middle of it. I panicked and went to find him like...like some primary school child tattling to the teacher on the class bully. If I hadn't brought him into it, he might never have known what happened or between whom. And now I got the band kicked out of a good gig pub forever, and now you're probably in deep with your boss and-”

“Ex-boss,” you supplied automatically, and you immediately knew it was the exact wrong thing to say. John's mouth fell open and his eyes widen, face falling in a shattered look.

“Wh-what? He fired you?!”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Great!” John cried in exasperation, his head falling to rest against the steering wheel in front of him. “Just great! That's what I get for trying to go about things peacefully! I narrowed the band's chances of booking more gigs. I got you fired from your gig!”

You reached out hesitantly and laid a hand on John's shoulder. When it wasn't immediately shrugged off, you took it as a good sign and gave a little squeeze.

“John. Please look at me, John.” The guilt-ridden man before you took a deep breath before sitting up again, pinning you with a very doubtful look. “It's not your fault, either. No, don't interrupt me, please. None of that was your fault, either. It wasn't even Roger's fault, though maybe he could have found another way to handle things. Neither of you would have felt the need to do what you did if Charlie hadn't shown up acting like a fool in the first place. What you did, what you both did, means so much to me. I barely know you, you barely know me, but you went out of your way to help me. You've got a heart of gold, John Deacon, and I can't imagine how the night would have ended if you four hadn't been here to help me out. It was time for me to move on from that gig anyway. It was getting old, and it was too much fore me to handle with my class schedule.

John was still giving you that sad look, so you reached out and shook him gently until he could not help but smile.

“I'm thankful, John! This night gave me a kick in the arse to get me moving onto the next great adventure!”

John was smiling genuinely now, and glanced down before turning back toward the front, nodding as he declared, “Well, I suppose if you're alright with it, I'm alright with it, too.”

“Totally! Now, take me home, John Deacon, and get sleeping beauty back here to his own bed. I'm afraid if he stays in that position much longer, he'll be stuck like that permanently.”

John glanced into the back seat and laughed at Brian's awkward position before he shifted gears and pulled back onto the street.

* * *

It was only after you watched John pull away, Brian now awake and sitting in the much roomier front seat, that you realized you had no idea when or where Queen would be playing again, nor did you have any way of contacting any of your new friends to find out.


	3. The One In The Coffee Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your search for a new job leads you to cross paths with one of your new found friends, who invites you to the next Queen show.

Sunlight streamed in through the crack in the curtains, washing a small sliver of your bedroom in bright yellow morning light. Even with your eyes closed, your body detected the light boring in on you, pulling you from a deep sleep. You lay there motionless for a few breaths, simply taking in the sounds of the world around you and reflecting.

You had spent the better part of the last two days searching for work to no avail. After it sank in that you no longer had a source of income, you had gone through three different bouts of panic in the span of the weekend, interspersed with frantic searches through newspaper listings and long walks through the city looking for “help wanted” signs in any of the shop windows. Any time you had not dedicated to job searching was spent eating, sleeping, and dreaming of long, soft hair and green-grey eyes.

You knew you had to find a job right away. You had saved a decent sum of money for any desperate times that may come up, but it was not much. Your rent was coming due in a week and your emergency fund would dry up fast.

It was now Monday, the third day since you had been fired from the pub and the third day since that fateful night in which you had met four very charismatic and intriguing young men with whom you had instantly connected.

Unfortunately you had all gone your separate ways that night and you had no idea how to contact any of them. You had their names, and you knew where the block of flats where two of them lived was located, but you had no idea which specific door was theirs. You were not about to go knocking on all the doors or loitering on the front step like some lost puppy or pining schoolgirl, waiting for one of them to show themselves. Instead, you simply kept your head up and looked for any sign of them or their band as you went about your life, hoping fate might bring your paths together again.

Sighing, you threw your threadbare duvet off your body and shivered slightly against the cold air. You sat at the edge of your bed and stretched, your whole body tensing until you heard and felt a satisfying 'pop' in your spine. You shook out your bed head a bit as you tried to wake up a little more, before pulling on your bathrobe and heading to the shower to start your day.

You only had one class today, so you would be spending most of the day on the hunt for employment. You decided you would scope out the area of shops and cafes around Kensington Market today, hoping that your hard searching would finally pay off. It was a bustling area with new shops constantly opening and expanding, and you thought it seemed like as good a place as any to scope out.

The last ten minutes of your class seemed to be taking 10 hours, at least. You looked up at the clock every few seconds, hoping to see it meet the hour, only to find it had only been a breath or two since you had last looked. You sighed, causing the guy in front of you to turn slightly toward you with a furrowed brow. _Have I been doing that a lot?_ you thought. You decided to busy yourself with quietly packing away your notes, as you were no longer listening to anything the professor said, and avoided eye contact with the other student. Finally came the welcome sound of your professor's farewell accompanied by the sounds of other students shifting about, packing up their things and discussing study groups.

You immediately bolted for the door, eager to get to the bus stop and off to Kensington to start your search immediately. You turned left at the door instead of right, and made you way down the unfamiliar path toward the other side of campus. Other students gave you frustrated looks as you bolted past them, nearly bowling a girl over once you saw the bus stop in sight. The bus had just pulled up, and you hurried even faster, hoping to catch it and avoid waiting 20 minutes for the next one. That's when you saw him.

Standing three back in the line to board the bus, a tall, slender man with waves of shiny, red-brown hair, his rounded nose in perfect profile from where you stood. Your heart skipped a beat. Surely it could not be him?

“John!” you called out, praying he would hear you above the hustle and bustle surrounding you. “John Deacon!”

John's head whipped around, hair flying, searching around him for the source of the voice he had just heard calling for him. You tried to wave to him, but a group of young school children rounded the corner then, too busy talking amongst themselves to see where they were going. They pushed you back out of John's line of vision At that moment, the lady behind him must have said something about holding up the line, for John flashed her an apologetic smile and quickly hopped on the bus.

You finally broke free of the group of children just as the bus drove off again. You sat on the bench at the stop and buried your face in your hands, feeling like could have cried, and were very close to the tears spilling over as you stared between your fingers at the grey pavement below you. You were so close. So close to getting John's attention, so close to being able to see and speak to him again, and he slipped right through your grasp.

You sat at the bus stop and stared at the ground in frustration and defeat until the next bus to Kensington Market stopped in front of you.

Once you finally made it to Kensington, you put the matter of John and Queen behind you, instead shifting your focus totally on your job search. The first business you spotted upon exiting the bus was a small cafe with a very cliche looking neon sign depicting a steaming cuppa in the wide front window. It looked small and somewhat dingy, but still warm and clean. You were absolutely freezing standing out in the late autumn breeze, so you decided it would surely not hurt to step inside for a coffee and a warm up to help you along your search.

Upon stepping inside, there were two things that caught your attention which made you very happy you had stepped inside. First was the “help wanted” sign hanging from the till. A smile plastered itself to your face, and you waited patiently to place your order.

“Hi! I'll take a drip coffee and an employment application, please,” you said to the barista, who looked momentarily confused by your request.

“Oh, oh! Oh yeah! Just a second,” she turned toward the back room, and shouted, “Hey, Marie, we got a live one!”

“Oh, yeah?,” a loud but upbeat voice answered from somewhere in the depths of the shop. “Well hand over the papers and tell them to take a seat. And the coffee is on the house!”

The barista handed you a sheet of paper from below the register and told you to take a seat wherever you would like. You thanked her before turning toward where you had spotted some empty tables when you arrived. That was when you spotted the second thing that you made you sure you had come to the right place.

Sitting alone at a table for two with a large mug in front of him, mop of blond tresses artfully askew, was none other than Roger Taylor. Your face could have cracked with how wide you smiled, and you hurried over to him, forgetting the paper clutched in your hand.

“Finally!” you said, announcing your presence once you were just a few steps from him. He quickly looked up at you from his magazine, surprised by suddenly being addressed in the middle of the cafe.

“Finally, what?” he asked as a mischievous smile broke out across his features. He folded the corner of his magazine to mark his place, before gesturing to the other seat, offering it to you. You set your coffee down before climbing into the tall stool, never taking your eyes off his sparkling blue ones.

“Finally I was able to track one of you down! We all went our separate ways on Friday after what was probably the most eventful night of my life, and I had no way of contacting any of you!”

“So, you followed me to Kensington?” Roger chided you. You nearly choked on your coffee as you took a sip.

“No, no, not at all! It was a coincidence, I swear,” you tried to backpedal before you noticed Roger was shaking slightly with laughter.

“I was joking, (Y/N)”, he said, reaching for his half empty mug. It was then that you noticed the black and blue marks all over his right hand and yelped.

“Oh my god, Roger! Your hand!” you reached toward it, but realized grabbing his hand might hurt it more so you quickly withdrew it before flattening it on the table next to his magazine. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“What? Oh, that. No. It's just bruised, I promise. Nothing broken or dislocated or anything. It's happened before. Bruised hands kind of come with the territory.” He waved his good hand through the air like he was just brushing away a pesky insect. You could not help but think it looked very painful. The knuckles of Roger's hands were indiscernible beneath the swelling, and the marred black, red, and blue covered his skin from the lower knuckles of his fingers all the way down the back, nearly meeting his wrists. Roger watched you still examining his hand for a moment before he pulled it to his lap and out of your sight.

“It's nothing, I promise. I'm so used to the bruises by now, as a drummer. I power through, they heal until the next time, the cycle starts again.”

“That's different though, Roger. You didn't get those from going a little too hard at rehearsal or showing off at a gig.”

“Really, I promise, it's fine. The ice pack helped a lot. Besides, it needed to be done. That dickhead needed to be taught a lesson, I decided to be his tutor. The satisfaction totally outweighs the pain.”

You looked into Roger's eyes and saw nothing but sincerity and good-natured humor, and so decided to drop the subject for now. Instead, you flashed him a smile before changing the subject.

“So, Mr. Taylor, what brings you all the way to Kensington?”

“Work,” he replied on a sigh, slumping somewhat in his seat.

“Oh?” you asked, intrigued. “Has Queen got another show in the area?”

Roger looked back up at you then, his posture changing into a more open one. “No, nothing like that. It's my day job. Freddie and I run a little stall in the market to supplement our income. We don't quite get enough gigs to um...sustain our lifestyle.”

“Really?” you asked, eager to learn all you could about Roger and his bandmates. You had no clue why you were so curious, but you felt an inexplicable bond to these gents, like they were fated to be part of your life. It had been so long since you had met any new people, your life being almost entirely dedicated to work and school for the last two years. You felt like you had been stuck in a glass cage, able to see and at least partially experience everything happening around you, waiting for something, but you never knew what. Perhaps you were about to find out.

“Yeah, we sell antiques. Clothes and accessories and that sort of thing. Most of it is rubbish that Freddie finds god knows where, but I do pay some attention to trends and that, so we get by.”

You were interested to hear that someone like Roger was so interested in fashion and popular trends. You figured he was the kind of person to do whatever he wanted and dress however he wanted and not care what anyone else thought. The more you looked at him, though, the more you realized he actually looked quite casually stylish, with his dark wash bell-bottom jeans, button up shirt, and purple high-top sneakers. There was also what looked like a patchwork cap sitting next to him on the windowsill along with a pair of sunglasses.

“Well I must admit I never would have guessed that,” you said with a grin.

“What about you? What brings you all the way out here?” Roger asked, leaning over the table toward you.

“Well, thanks to Charlie's lovely behavior and Mike's...overall...Mike-ness, I find myself in need of employment. Figured I'd scope out the market today, see if anyone was hiring, and I just so happened to stumble in here and saw a sign. In fact, I'm meant to be waiting for someone named Marie...”

“Oh, yeah, Marie,” Roger said fondly. “She's a riot, you'll like her. She owns the place. Very hands on, she's always here working, does all the baking herself. Crazy but in all the best ways.”

“You seem to know a lot about her, Roger. Is there something going on between you two I should know about?”

“What?!” Roger all but shouted back at you. “No! That's insane! I just come here a lot. I'm a regular, and Marie treats her regulars right, that's all. Nothing going on there.”

“Okay I believe you!” You were laughing heartily now, the panic in Roger's eyes slowly fading to embarrassment. “I'm sorry, I didn't realize how defensive you would get. I wasn't serious.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Roger said quietly. “It's just that...no one knows I come here. None of the guys, anyway. Freddie thinks I spend my lunch either at the pub down the road, or in the music shop round the corner from the stall. I do go to the shop occasionally for more sticks or guitar picks, or if they've got a new album I like. But I mostly spend my time in here.”

“Why?” you ask, wondering what's so wrong with the place that he would lie about his whereabouts.

“They've got the best coffee in the area and the pastries are to die for.”

“No, I mean,” you were laughing again, and Roger smiled, too. “I mean, why don't you tell the guys you come here?”

“Well, partly because I'm sure they'd take the mickey out of me if they knew I liked to sit here listening to smooth jazz, sipping fancy coffee and eating fucking pastries, but mostly its because it's a respite from my day and from them. I love them dearly, both as the band and as my friends, don't get me wrong there. But I need a break from the chaos now and then. It's quiet and calm here, and if I brought them here and if, by chance, they enjoyed it and came back...well...”

“There goes your respite,” you finished for him. “You would lose your solitary place.”

“Exactly,” Roger nodded. You found yourself constantly surprised by Roger as you learned more about him, and as you learned more, you wanted to keep learning more. The two of you spoke a while longer, about school (which he had finished) friends, life, and eventually, Queen. Roger seemed very eager to make a living as a musician, and you found yourself thinking about how entranced you were at their gig just a few days ago. You were certain Roger saw their potential just as you had, and found yourself encouraging his ideas and hopes for the future. You find out during your conversation that Queen would be playing again the following Saturday in Camden.

“You have to come! It's our first show in Camden and we need support!”

“I wouldn't miss it,” you found yourself answering without even thinking about what might happen should you actually land the job you were here waiting for. Speaking of which, you looked at you watch and realized you and roger had been talking for almost 40 minutes. You figured you would have been interrupted by Marie my now, and looked around for any sign of her.

Roger must have caught sight of the time, too, for he suddenly jumped up and started collecting his things.

“Blimey! I've been gone nearly and hour! Bloody hell, Fred's gonna be pissed with me.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry I kept you!” you apologized as Roger threw his coat over his shoulders and jammed his cap and sunglasses on.

“Not your fault love, I lost track. See you Saturday, 8 o'clock?”

“Yes!” you said with an enthusiastic nod. “I'll be there!”

Roger turned and quickly made his way to the counter, just as Marie made an appearance from the back. He quickly said something to her that you could not hear which made her look over his shoulder toward you. Then with a sweep of his coat, Roger was gone.

Marie came bustling over to you then. She was a small woman, probably in her mid to late fifties, with short hair and glasses. She looked very much the mothering type, and you already liked her warm smile.

“Sit down, dear, sit down!” she told you, bringing you a refill on your coffee. “I would have come to speak to you sooner, but I saw you having a grand time with young Mr. Taylor and decided to leave you to it while I finished my batch of cupcakes.”

“Oh goodness, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long! I'm so sorry!”

“Pish posh! Sometimes what we need in life is to slow down and connect to other people. Now, let's get started here. What is you name, dear?”

You spent the better part of the next hour in conversation with Marie. She was incredibly easy to talk to and in many ways reminded you of your own mother. You were not entirely sure whether this was meant to be an interview or not, but just in case, you were on your best behavior and answered her questions in depth.

As the conversation lulled somewhat, you were just about to ask if this was a job interview when Marie beat you to the punch.

“Well, (Y/N), when can you start? Let's pinpoint a training day and we'll iron out your schedule and details then. Sound good to you?”

“You mean, I'm hired? But I haven't even filled in the application.”

“Oh that's just a formality at this point,” Marie waved her hand toward the paper still lying on the table in front of you. “Of course I'll need one on file so you can bring it back filled in when you come for your first shift. You were hired the moment Mr. Taylor stopped to commend you so highly.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped. “I'm sorry, he what?”

“He stopped on the way out and told me you were my absolute best option, and that I might as well stop looking now. Maybe it's crazy, but I trust him, and this conversation has only cemented in my mind that he was right.”

Suddenly Saturday could not come soon enough.

It was Saturday afternoon and you were certain it had come entirely too soon.

You stood in front of your wardrobe, staring at every last piece of clothing jammed into it and realizing quite belatedly that you had nothing to wear. You flatmate was out at the moment, so you had no one to call to for aid, no one else's closet to raid (you refused to touch Sarah's without her permission) and you were on the verge of giving up and staying home when you heard the door open and close followed by the sound of keys being rather forcefully placed on table beside it. Throwing on an oversized t-shirt, you wandered back into the main area of the flat, which served as open kitchen and living room.

“You're home early,” you told Sarah, watching as she struggled to remove her scarf from her red hair, static from the dry winter air causing it to cling everywhere.

“Study group was canceled. Apparently no one thought to inform me that Marcus and James are both sick and Beth got called into work, leaving just me and Allen,” she finally ripped the scarf free and you moved forward to take it from her as her cold, numb fingers started to work on the buttons of her coat. “Obviously that made meeting tonight pointless, but I had to walk half a mile in the snow before finding our rendezvous spot empty. Luckily I had change for the payphone. Anyway, what are you doing? I thought you were going out tonight to see that band?”

“I can't,” you sighed. “I have nothing to wear!”

Sarah pursed her lips at you, thinking for a moment. “That's not true. What about the crop top you bought just a couple weeks ago? Or that romper you wore to Tina's party? You looked great in that!” You suddenly found yourself being pulled back into your bedroom as Sarah rummaged through your clothing.

“Aha!” she shouted in triumph before pulling out a slinky, silky dark blue piece of cloth that flowed loose and light from the hanger it was on.

“I don't know,” you said, chewing at your thumbnail. “You don't think it would be a bit much?”

“Are you serious, (Y/N)? No, it's not too much! Its fashionable, it's sexy, it's a head-turner without being too revealing. I think it'll be perfect. Come on, I have the perfect shoes and earrings to go with it. I'll do your make-up, too!”

Twenty minutes later, you were dressed, bejeweled, and just putting the finishing touches on your long, sleek hair as Sarah watched in the mirror from beside you.

“You look foxy, (Y/N)! Perfect for a rock show! Ooh, wait! Mascara!!” she said, turning toward you with the little black tube, ready to attack your eyeslashes.

“Um, I think I can do this bit myself, thanks,” you chuckled and took the tube from her, quickly swiping a single coat onto each eye, before standing back and admiring the overall look. You had to admit, with the help of Sarah's earrings and makeup skills, you were quite pleased with what you saw. Taking a final deep breath, you decided you were ready and made your way to where your coat hung on the back of a kitchen chair.

“You sure you don't wanna come with me, Sarah?” you asked her one last time.

“Nah, I'm exhausted, and it's freezing out there. You go have your fun.”

You gave Sarah a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing out the door and into the waiting cab.

Upon arriving at the venue in Camden, a small banquet and concert hall that could probably hold a crowd of around 200, your nerves caught up with you again. You hadn't seen any of them since your conversation at Marie's with Roger and your near run-in with John that same day. You were sure Freddie would be happy to see you, and Brian was a nice bloke, but after the strange conversation with John on the way home, you were still a little unsure about seeing him again.

When you entered the venue, you realized you were quite early, as the band still seemed to be running a sound check on the small stage at the front of the hall. You checked your watch, it was 7:56 and Roger had definitely told you to come at 8, you were sure of it. You started toward the stage when I tall man dressed in all black stopped you.  
  


“I'm sorry, miss, but the venue doesn't open until 8:30, you'll have to wait outside, or come back later.”

“I-I'm sorry,” you said to the man, feeling totally out of your element now. “I was invited by the band, they told me to come at 8?” You didn't mean for it to sound like a question, but the man did not seem to notice as recognition flitted across his face.

“What's your name, miss?”

“Um, it's (Y/N).”

“Ah. Sorry about that, I forgot Rog had mentioned someone might be showing up early. Right this way. You can wait in the back for the goys to be done with sound check.”

Your mind was whirling with what the man had just said. The crew had been told you would be coming? And now you were being escorted backstage. You decided to just go along with it, excited to see your friends play another great show. The wait only lasted about 5 minutes before you heard bickering coming down the hallway.

“...am not playing it to fast, you were going so slow!”

“I was not, Roger, I played it exactly as it is on the record,” that soft voice had to be Brian's.

“Tell him, Fred. Tell him he was playing to slow! You always do this, like I've never-”

“Children, please! Let's wait until after the show to kill each other, hmmm?”

The door opened just then and Brian stumbled in, closely followed by Freddie, Roger, and John bringing up the rear.

“Oh, hello (Y/N), how are you?” Brian asked once he noticed they had company.

“Alright, you?”

“Alright, at least as well as can be with these idi-”

“(Y/N), darling, how are you?” Freddie interrupted whatever grumpy tirade Brian was about to embark on, rushing over to kiss both your cheeks.

“Doing fine, Freddie, thank you,” you answered him, before turning your attention to the other two in the room. John and Roger were both watching you quietly. This seemed perfectly in character for John, but Roger's silence concerned you somewhat. He blinked a few times, however, and seemed to snap out of it.

“You found the place, I see! Lovely to see you again!” Roger crossed the room to a chair piled with clothes you assumed were his and sat down.

John, however, hovered nervously by the door. You crossed the room and stood in front of him.

“Hi,” he said quietly, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Hi to you,” you answered, catching his eye. “I saw you the other day, you know.”

“Me? Where?”

“Yes, you. Monday morning, you were boarding the bus. I called your name but then got lost in the crowd.”

He laughed. “So I was actually hearing that! I didn't imagine it!”

You laughed, too. “You didn't imagine it.” You just smiled at each other for a moment before he offered you a seat and a drink. You accepted, and John made for the small table set up as a mini-bar in the corner of the room. You took a seat on the small, unoccupied couch, removing your coat before doing so. You were so pre-occupied with straightening out your outfit and neatly folding up your coat to drape over the couch that you failed to notice what was happening around you.

John had glanced up just as you set your coat aside, catching your look for the evening in full view. He fumbled with the tumbler of gin he was holding, causing the alcohol to splash over and onto his sleeve. John cursed quietly, which caused Brian to look up. He then looked around for the source of John's distraction, and upon seeing you himself, actually did a double take.

On the other side of the room, Freddie was talking animatedly to Roger, who was ignoring him entirely. Instead, he had decided to stare openly at you from over Freddie's shoulder, and his mouth actually dropped open. He looked behind him to see what Roger was staring at, and in the process caught Brian's eye. The two of them gave each other a knowing smirk and went back to their own individual activities, leaving their rhythm section to pine like a couple of school boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really more of a filler chapter, I know, and very Roger heavy. Next chapter will pick up on the plot and will have a lot more John in it, I promise!


	4. The One With The Silver Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You always swore you would never do this. You would never be that girl, yet there you were, hidden away in a dark bathroom, pressed up against the door by another warm body as the party raged on outside. A loud thud resounded around you, but you hardly even noticed it was from your own head falling back against the door as warm lips trailed down your neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this fic has actually gotten response, I am quite excited by that. I love that there are some of you out there loving it, as I am a nervous bean who is really afraid my work is trash, but I also just want to participate and get my stories and ideas out there, ya know? I am also really, really sorry that it took so long to get this chapter up. I am happy people here and on tumblr have been patient with me. Work got busy, then I got sick, then my sister had a minor emergency today that delayed my finishing and editing of this chapter. Thank you for understanding!
> 
> Alright it gets a bit steamy in this chapter, we’re getting into 18+ territory.
> 
> I am not Mary Austin’s biggest fan, but I love the way Lucy Boynton portrayed her and though I visualize this as the OG boys, I visualize Mary as Lucy!Mary. You can do whatever you choose.

You settled backstage with the boys for a while and chatted, thankful for the opportunity to get to know them a little more. John acted as a gracious host as he kept you supplied with drink and company, engaged you in conversation, and just generally made you feel welcome among them.

As showtime drew closer, though, you found yourself alone as everybody was off making last minute checks and adjustments, ensuring everything would be perfect. At one point, you noticed Brian walking by with his guitar and finally got a good look at it for the first time.

“I've never seen a guitar quite like that,” you said to him a few minutes later as he stood by a small amp at the back of the now quiet room, empty but for the two of you, twisting pegs and plucking strings, tuning the instrument methodically. He smiled at you as he made one last adjustment to his D string, then sat in the chair opposite you to warm up a bit.

“That's because there is no guitar like it in the world,” he answered with a grin. “My dad and I made this when I was a teenager.”

Your jaw dropped at this bit of information, and you looked down again at the beautiful red stained wood before you. “You made her? Really?”

Brian nodded and chuckled as he swung the strap over his head and laid the instrument out on the table before him, pointing out the various parts. He was clearly excited that someone would show such and interest in his axe as he eagerly explained everything to you.

“I named it the Red Special, but I sometimes refer to it as the Fireplace, as the body is made out of a 100 year old mantle,” he ran his finger reverently across the round body of the guitar, before he tilted the neck toward you.

“This is from an old shelf dad tore out of the kitchen, and these inlays are mother-of-pearl, old buttons mum had lying around. This came from a knitting needle, mum had lost one of the pair, and the wiring is all Dad's design.”

“Amazing,” you whispered as you reached toward it, but stopped short as you realized what you were doing.

“Go ahead,” Brian said with chuckle. “I doubt you'll hurt her.”

You picked up the guitar and held it reverently, afraid to touch too much and mess up any tuning or settings (there were an awful lot of switches laid into the pick guard, and even the knobs looked imperfectly homemade) but also frightened to death of dropping it.

“I don't know a damn thing about guitars except that they sound cool,” you admitted as you tucked the Special onto your lap.

Brian stood and sat beside you, then reached out to reposition the guitar on your knee and positioned your fingers along the frets.

“Put this one here, press down firmly-a little more, there you are- now just strum,” he said, leaning away from you as you strummed one fingernail over down the strings. It was faint without any amplification, but you could just hear the chord ring out in the room. You smiled and whipped your head around to face Brian, proud that you played your very first chord.

“Brilliant!” he said with a clap of his hands. “That's a G chord, a very basic building block for any guitarist.”

“What's another one?!” you asked breathlessly, suddenly very enthusiastic to make more lovely sounds. He leaned around you again to reposition your fret hand just as the door burst open. You looked up, slightly startled at the sound, and your smile immediately slid off your face at the thunderous look Roger pointed your way as he stood in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” he asked. You were unable to decipher whether the question was directed at you or at Brian, and his tone was unreadable. Was he angry? Why would he be angry?

“Brian was teaching me a couple chords on his guitar,” you said innocently. “I was admiring it and next thing I knew, I was playing it! I can see why you guys love this so much, it's a rush!”

Roger stared at Brian next to you as you bent back over the guitar, trying to remember the position for a G chord. It became apparent you had already forgotten as you strummed and were met with a discordant clanging. Brian turned to you as you handed the instrument back, deciding you had perhaps had one too many of John's delicious cocktails to be handling such a precious piece of equipment.

“Bri,” Roger's tone was clipped as he addressed his friend. “They need you out front, one of your pedals isn't responding or something.”

“Did they try to hook up the Roland again? I told them it doesn't work,” Brian stood and started for the door, only to be blocked by Roger, who did not immediately move out of the way. You watched, puzzled, as they stared at each other for a moment before Brian squeezed past Roger and out the door.

As soon as Brian was gone, Roger was all smiles again. He shot you a winning grin as he reached for his earlier abandoned scotch and tossed it back. He slammed the glass on the table and dropped down next to you on the small couch. You giggled as you bounced a little from the sudden movement.

“Come here often?” he asked with a smirk. You simply rolled your eyes at him and turned away.

“I have to say,” you answered, “things are just as busy as I had imagined they would be, but not nearly as exciting.”

“Oh, fuck off! Rock and roll is exciting!”

“Well sure it is during the actual show! So far I've spent half my time here entertaining myself,” you crossed your arms in a show of feigned petulance.

“I'm sorry it ain't all you were expecting, love-”

Your head whipped around when you heard the endearment fall from his lips. “Please don't call me that.”

Roger looked surprised and more than a little confused by your sudden statement. “What?''

“I know you have a couple of times now and I was able to ignore it, but if we're going to be seeing more of each other, I have to ask you not to call me that. 'Love'. Ch-I just don't like it. Please don't call me that.”

Roger put his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide and eyebrows in his hairline. “Alright, alright. As you wish. I won't say it anymore.” A pause, and then, “I'm sorry.”

“Thank you. You've no reason to be sorry, though I do appreciate it. ”

An awkward silence fell over the both of you for a moment. You were lost in past memories of Charlie's drunkenness, so wrapped in your own head that you missed the re-entrance of the last two members of Queen, having just finished their last few equipment checks. John had also changed into his stage clothes, and when you finally noticed them, you could not stop yourself from doing double take at his appearance.

He was no longer in his well-loved velvet trousers and button up. Instead, he sported a well cut satin suit in a deep black along with a very deep cut black shirt with what appeared to be a pattern of some sort of foliage embroidered on it in white. It left him exposed halfway down his torso and you had a hard time tearing your eyes away from his pale chest.

“Darling, the show is just about to start!” Freddie's voice cut into your thoughts, and you tore your eyes away from John to face him. “What are you still doing here, you won't see much from backstage! Go join the crowd before it gets too full!”

“Erm, alright, Freddie, I will,” and with a quick kiss to your cheek, the man sent you on your way out to find a good spot to see the show.

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It was another fantastic performance. In fact, you were almost certain this had been an even better show than the last one. You were left speechless by the power and the passion behind the music, and once they had wrapped up their set, you could not wait to get back to your friends and tell them how much you had enjoyed the night.

As you made your way over to the side stage and toward the access that would lead you back to your friends, you could not help but notice a group of ladies gathered around the pathway. They were all very scantily clad in their crop tops and tube tops and tiny shorts, and you shivered just imagining how they must have frozen when they stepped outside to make their journey to the venue tonight. One girl with feathered, bright red hair was leaning around the bouncer, attempting to get a look backstage. It was then you realized who these girls must be and what they were doing-or hoping to do-still hanging around after the show was over.

“Excuse me,” you said to the group of girls, trying to make your way around them. The tall one with hair like fire turned to you and gave you a dirty look.

“Um, we've already tried and, like, no one is allowed back so, you should probably just go home.”

“Uh...thanks?” you said to her, unsure how to answer, as you got the attention of the staff member attempting to shoo them away. It was the same gentleman who had helped you when you first arrived. He smiled and stood aside for you to move past the side stage. You nodded in thanks as you moved along.

The groupie was certainly not happy. The whiniest voice followed you down the corridor, “Why does she get to go?!” You did not hear the bouncer's response as you laughed and opened the door to the dressing room.

The scene you stumbled upon, however, stopped you in your tracks. Brian and Roger were stood in the middle of the room, facing each other and glaring, with Freddie attempting to step between them. John stood to the side, his bag in his hand, watching the scene unfold quietly. You could feel the tension in the room and started backing away when Freddie called out to you.

“(Y/N)! Our number 1 fan back again!” he called to you with hint of faked cheeriness.

“Yes,” you said, hand still on the knob of the door. “Is there something wrong? Should I go? I can wait outside, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just barged back in like this.”

“Nonsense,” Freddie said with that same not-quite-right tone. “We invited you along, you are welcome here. Right, boys?”

He turned to look at Brian and Roger. Brian looked up at you before answering Freddie, “Of course she is. But I'm not the one with the problem, Fred.”

There was a snap and a clattering as Roger threw the pair of sticks he had still been holding across the room. One splintered against the wall and they both fell to the cement floor with a clatter. Roger then pushed his way to the back toward the shower without a word. You were still standing in the doorway, shocked and uncomfortable. Roger's actions certainly contradicted Brian and Freddie's words, and you very much did not want to be caught up in whatever band matter the guys needed to sort out. You knew it was not your place, especially with not having known them for more than a week.

Freddie shook his head after Roger, then turned back to you with a sigh. “Don't mind him dear. He gets a little crazy after shows sometimes. All the adrenaline and pent up tension get to him sometimes.”

“Are you sure? I don't want to interfere in private band matters...”

“It's not a band matter, and it's not you he has a problem with,” Freddie told you, before he added under his breath, “It's not even Brian who he’ll have a problem with.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing at all. Now please, do come sit and give us your glowing review!”

You allowed yourself to be steered back to the small couch that had been your perch before the show, and let all your thoughts about their performance spill forth. You gushed for a solid 20 minutes about how entranced you were by them, how impressed you were with their chemistry, how it almost seemed like they could predict each other's movements on stage, and how majestic they all looked in their fancy garb under proper stage lights.

After about fifteen minutes, Roger reappeared in a waft of steam and the smell of soap, hair wet and dripping, looking much calmer than he had before he stormed off. He perched next to you on the arm of the couch and listened quietly as you relayed to him how amazed you were by his playing. He smiled softly at you, but did not get a chance to reply before Freddie interrupted.

“Right! I think a celebration of this magnificent night is in order!” he cried, tossing his long raven locks over his shoulders and opening his arms wide in a grand, sweeping gesture. “Party at ours!”

“And were you gonna ask me if I'm okay with that, Fred?” Roger crossed his arms

“Oh come on, Roggie!” he pouted. “I know you're not ready for this night to end either!” Freddie then raced to the door and flung it open with a bang, crying out, “Party! After-party at my home! We simply cannot let this night go to waste!”

Brian stood from the chair opposite you and immediately began packing his things. “Well, we'd best get a move on, lads. If we don't at least show up he'll have all our heads.”

Roger made his way to the mirror and started blow-drying his hair. You watched him for a moment until you felt the cushion next to you sink as John sat beside you.

“You'll come along, too, won't you?” he asked you, just loud enough to be heard over the hair dryer.

You looked into his green eyes for a moment, his earnest, open expression clearly begging you to come along, and how could anyone say no to that?

You playfully nudged your shoulder against his and answered, “You're not getting rid of me any time soon, Deacon.”

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Roger volunteered to give you a lift to Freddie's, but the night had taken place in a much larger venue than last time, meaning more equioment, and once all the extra gear was packed into the van, there was only enough room left for Roger and Brian, who had ridden along with him. Freddie, however, had taken a cab home ahead of the rest in order to get his flat ready for the party (Roger was not happy Freddie skipped out on loading equipment, “wanker just wanted an excuse not to lift anything!”) so John offered to take you in his Mini.

“You drive a Mini?” you asked him, mirth evident in your eyes.

“Yeah, I do. Something wrong with that?” he answered defensively.

“No! No not at all!” you placated him. “Just didn't expect that from a rock star is all. That's so very English of you, John.”

“Yeah, well,” he raised his arms and gestured around you, as if indicating that you were, in fact, in England, so it actually made perfect sense. “And I'm no rock star.”

“Hmm. Not yet.”

Before John could answer, Roger, whose mood seemed to have improved tenfold, came bounding out of the pub with the last bag of equipment, closely followed by Brian with his guitar in case.

“Right, that should be the last of it. Let's get a move on, I've got a real thirst going now, I'm ready for some celebratory drinks!”

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You were unsure on the way over what to expect when you arrived, but upon stepping into Freddie and Roger's flat, you were certain you could have picked it out from pictures before ever having stepped foot inside. The first thing you noticed was the small collection of guitars and a keyboard set up in the corner of the living room, taking up more space than most anything else. The decorations were very bold, with drapes and tapestries hanging everywhere, most of them is saturated reds, blues, and purples, giving the whole place a warm, red glow. The kitchen looked untouched, the small stove blending into the counter as a storage space for notebooks, textbooks, and boxes of what looked like clothing stacked around the small space. There was a ginger cat lounging on the dilapidated sofa, clearly unimpressed with the strange people who had just walked into its home. It stood up, fluffed it's tail, and proceeded to stalk off down the hallway and away from all the people.

Freddie had clearly been busy draping scarves and handkerchiefs on the lamps to create a soft ambiance, and the coffee table was laden with various half-empty liquor bottles, a few mixers and glasses. There was a record on, playing softly for now, and you thought it may have been The Beatles.

Just as you were taking in the artwork that seemed to be congregated in one corner of the room, Freddie emerged form down the hall with the ginger cat in his arms.

“Darlings, you've arrived just in time. Mary will be here shortly with her girlfriends from Biba. They've just got to finish closing the store. Peter the sound guy said he had three from his crew coming along, and I invited a few of our adoring crowd as well.”

“Jesus, Fred, really?” Brian asked him. “You invited total strangers into your home?”

“Well they won't be strangers after tonight, will they, darling? Come in, make yourself at home, get a drink, have fun!” and with a flourish, Freddie turned to the stereo, flicked the volume up, and the night continued.

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An hour later you found yourself sat on the dilapidated couch, staring around the room and feeling completely out of your element. The place was packed, noisy, and way to hot. You'd lost John about 15 minutes ago, and wandered aimlessly, looking for a place to stop for a minute and collect yourself. You had stumbled past Brian, clearly intoxicated and wrapped around a very cute, tiny brunette you had met earlier in the night, Cheryl or Christy or something. You smirked and turned away to afford them at least a small amount of privacy, and found a seat on the couch. After a moment of contemplating whether anyone would notice if you slipped out and made your way home, a blonde woman with a slightly crooked smile plopped down beside you.

“Oi. This place is a mad house, innit?” she turned to you with a knowing look. “I don't know why I come along to these crazy parties of Fred's their really not my thing.”

You smiled at her, unsure if you should recognize her or not, and nodded. “Yeah, I definitely didn't expect it to be this packed.”

“That's Freddie, though. He can't do anything small or halfway. I'm Mary, by the way. Mary Austin.”

“Mary? As in Freddie's Mary?”

“Freddie's Mary” she answered with a small smile.

“Oh! I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you answered and reached out to shake her hand.

“You're (Y/N)? Oh my, I wondered if I'd meet you here tonight! Freddie told me all about last week, he felt simply awful about the whole situation, you know,” she grasped your hand firmly for a moment before turning to face you more and sinking back into the couch. She then filled you on how Freddie had been very worried after you had lost your job, how he and the other boys all felt terribly guilty about it and how he was ready to call you up and take you out on a job search himself, at least until he realized he had no way of contacting you. He was apparently ready to march into the pub and demand someone tell him how to contact you when Roger had come rushing in late from his lunch one day, talking a mile a minute about how he had met you while he was out, that you were on your way to an interview, and he had invited you to their next show.

Being right next to the makeshift bar, you found yourself refilling your glass often as you and Mary talked and laughed, and soon you found you were not just lightheaded from the laughter shared between you. You were truly tipsy, letting loose and finally having some fun as you no longer cared about the crowd or the noise around you.

The cushions beside you dipped as someone deposited their weight onto it, and you turned to find another, more familiar, blond on your other side.

“Rog!” you exclaimed, happy to see a face you recognized. His eyes were slightly glassed over from drink and he smelled heavily of smoke, but you found you did not care as you awkwardly hugged him.

“Hey, wanna dance?” he murmured in your ear. “It is a party after all.”

“Uh, I really can't dance,” you replied, biting your lip nervously. His eyes flicked down to the action then quickly back up to your own eyes.

“Who cares?” he answered. “Everybody's drunk, or well on their way to it. Nobody cares! Let's go have some fucking fun!”

You found you could not argue with his logic, and so you allowed yourself to be pulled up and toward the makeshift dance floor in front of the stereo. Roger pulled you close and placed a hand on your waist as you threw your head back and your arms up and let your body move how it wanted to the music. Soon you were both laughing as you traded corny moves you had seen recently at some of the discos around town, crying tears of mirth at each others' silly actions.

Roger took your hand and spun you around, and when you came back to face him again, that was when you finally spotted John. He was leaning back against the couch you had just been sitting on, watching you with a passive expression on his face. However, there was a burning intensity in his eyes, and when they met your, you swallowed hard. A shiver ran its way up your spine causing you to falter slightly in your steps.

“Whoa steady there!” Roger had not noticed John watching you as his back was to John. “You alright?”

“Oh, yeah!” you recovered quickly. “Just got a bit dizzy. I think I may need to take a break!”

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “I need a piss and a smoke anyway.”

“Charming,” you answered with a furrowed brow. He simply shot you a smile as he made his way down the hall. You turned toward John, only to find he had already made his way to you. He startled you as you had not expected him to be standing so close.

“Jesus, I'm sorry, (Y/N), I didnt mean to scare you,” he reached out to plae a hand on you waist to steady you.

“It's alright,” you said, fire erupting from where his hand lay lightly against your body. You could feel every last millimeter of the shape of his hand even over your clothes. John was very close to you now, and you could clearly see each fleck of green and grey swirling together in his eyes, could count each faint freckle on his skin as he smiled softly at you. You could smell him, his unique mix of shampoo, aftershave and something distinctly John that frankly made you feel comforted while simultaneously driving you wild. He was so close now, all you would have to do is lean forward into him a little more and you could easily reach up and-

Sudden cold flooded the left side of your body. You and John both gasped and turned to the source of the disruption. The scantily-clad red head groupie from earlier had apparently tripped over her own drunken feet as she passed by, tossing her full drink all over you and John who just happened to be in her path. She stopped herself from falling by grabbing John, who instinctively grabbed onto you as he was almost taken down with her. You barely held him up as he regained his composure and set the woman back upright.

“Ohmygod I am sooooo sorryyy!” she whined at you and grabbed your shoulder as she regained her balance. Then she blinked a few times and finally seemed to focus on your face. “Hey, wait, don' I know you frsumwhere?”

You removed her hand from your shoulder, as her long, bright yellow painted nails had started digging into your skin, and quickly replied, “No, sorry!” You then grabbed John's hand and pulled him down the hall, hoping Roger had already moved on to his smoke and the bathroom would be free. You started opening doors along the way, not caring what you found inside. The first was a bedroom, thankfully empty but for the furniture. The second was a closet, and the third locked, though you thought you heard some noises coming form inside that would suggest it was probably not a bathroom. Finally John caught on to what you were doing and led to you the door at the very end of the hall. He pulled it open, pulled you inside, and slammed and locked it behind the both of you.

You stood facing the mirror over the sink, assessing the damage to your favorite jumpsuit, turning this way and that, and blotted at the wet spots with a small towel that had been sitting on the vanity. You locked eyes with John's reflection in the mirror, and before you knew what was happening, you both had dissolved into fits of giggles.

“Here, let me have that,” he said, taking the towel from you after you both calmed down for a moment.

You turned your back to him and he carefully wiped the towel over your bare shoulder and blotted along the dropped sleeve of your outfit. He then pulled your hair back and gently squeezed the towel around it, soaking up the sticky mess that found its way into your perfectly tonged hair. You felt goosebumps erupt in the towel's wake. John was so gentle and careful, cleaning you up quickly and thoroughly. You took the towel back from him and ordered him to turn to the side so you could try to wash the stain out of his sleeve. He obeyed, watching you work in the mirror. He admired the way your eyelashes fluttered against your cheek as you leaned close to him, the shine of your hair as you shifted under the harsh light.

“There,” you said quietly once you were finished and deemed the mess contained. You looked up at him, only to find him watching you intensely.

You dropped the towel blindly into the sink beside you, never looking away from John. His fingers found their way under your chin, gently tilting your head up just a little more. You could not stand it any longer. You raised up onto your tiptoes and landed a kiss straight on John's pouting mouth.

He did not respond at first, and you panicked. Had you read the situation wrong? Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh-

Suddenly you were pushed up against the door, arms flailed out to find purchase against the sudden onslaught. You accidentally switched the light off, but did not notice one bit as John's lips parted against yours, teeth latching onto your bottom lip and pulling slightly, causing you to gasp into his mouth. You pulled away for a second, panting, only to reach up and place your hands on either side of this sharp jaw and dive back in again. John's large hands pinned your hips back against the door, and he crowded closer as you dipped your tongue just barely past his lips, testing the waters.

John made a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a moan and opened up to you completely. Warm velvet tangled in the sweetest dance you had ever tasted, your senses filled to the brim with all things John. One of your hands slid down to the back of his neck, the other tangling in the hair you felt tickling against your face, pulling it back out of your way.

You always swore you would never do this. You would never be that girl, yet there you were, hidden away in a dark bathroom, pressed up against the door by another warm body as the party raged on outside. Yet something about John really made you lose all ability to care. A loud thud resounded around you, but you hardly even noticed it was from your own head falling back against the door as warm lips trailed down your neck.

You gasped at the feeling, arching toward John, wanting to feel more of his warmth, craving more contact. He obliged, moving his hands from your hips to wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. The hand not tangled in his soft brown waves moved around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. You could not get enough of him, now that the levee had broken. It was a flood of passion and the sweetest agony, and you welcomed it with open arms.

A loud moan ripped its way out of your throat as you felt his lips latch on just below your ear and suck hard. John had no way of knowing this, but this exact spot was one of your most sensitive areas, an erogenous zone that had never been thoroughly discovered before. You tilted your head to offer him better access, one of his hands brushing your long hair out of the way, panting as he left what would surely be a very noticeable bruise come morning. Just as you were deciding you did not care how many marks he left up and down your whole body, a knock just behind your caused you to freeze up immediately.

John, who apparently had not hear the knock but felt you suddenly tense up, detached himself from your neck and looked into your eyes with mild panic.

“(Y/N), what-?”

“Ssh!” you pressed a finger to his lips to shush him, and heard the knock come again, followed by a familiar voice.

“Hello? Anybody in there?” Mary's voice was muffled but recognizable through the door. Your eyes widened for a moment, but you cleared your throat and took a deep breath before you answered.

“Just a moment, Mary!” you called as naturally as you could muster.

“(Y/N), I'd wondered where you'd gone!” she called cheerfully. “Sorry to interrupt, I'll just wait out here until you're done.”

“Alright, thanks!” you called, and turned back to John. You giggled and he smiled against your finger, still pressed against his lips. He kissed it and you pulled away, straightening up and turning the light back on.

The mirror revealed just what a sight you two were, with your kiss-swollen lips, mussed hair and clothing wrinkled where you had grabbed at each other. You quickly fixed up your smeared makeup, brushed johns hair down as well as you possibly could, and quietly opened the door, praying no one would see the two of you emerge form the bathroom like a couple of randy teenagers. You would not be able to live down the mortification if you were caught.

Unfortunately for you, Freddie and Roger were stood in the doorway to another bedroom, talking animatedly. Mary gave you a sly smile as she squeezed past you into the bathroom. Freddie, however, seemed to panic. His eyes widened comically, which Roger noticed.

“What are you lookin' at, Fred?” he asked and started to turn around.

“Oh, nothing! I just, uh...I just remembered I had something I wanted to show you. It's uh...a little piece I thought you might like you wear for our next show.”

“What? Oh come on, can't it wait, Fred?”

“No, darling, it simply cannot! The muse strikes whenever she likes, and if I don't do it now I never will!” And he pulled Roger into the room and shut the door.

You turned to John with a questioning look. He just shrugged and rubbed his hand across his chest, looking slightly uncomfortable. You figured it must have something to do with the idea of Freddie and stage costumes. You had gathered from your conversation before the show that John and Freddie got on quite well, but one thing they tended to butt heads on was clothing.

The two of you rejoined the party, but after you took one look around the busy room, you decided you had enough.

“John? You good to drive?” you asked him.

“Yeah, why?” he asked, head tilted to the side as he gazed at you.

“I'm tired. Take me home?”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Roland brand mentioned did exist in the 1970s. Did Brian use it then? Dunno. Did he ever use it? Dunno! We’re playing with timelines and blurring exact details. This is fiction, after all.


	5. The One With The Broken Glass (and Hearts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your life has become rather busy, leaving you no free time to spend with your friends, but John comes up with a solution for this. However, the night may just end in disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh I am really very extremely totally sorry this update took so long. All I can say is the writer's block and depression are mean, ugly, nasty little bitches.
> 
> Anyway, shit's going down this chapter. Sorry. Told you it would get better and then worse again. If it breaks you heart, I hope it consoles you to know I'm breaking my own heart, too.
> 
> I just want to make it abundantly clear that Brian has no interest in reader other than a friendly one. He is, of course, excited to have reader take interest in his interests, and they get along well, but (as you may have caught in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it line in the last chapter) Brian has met Chrissie. Also, John, Roger, and reader have no clue about anything. Freddie is, so far, the only one suspicious about there being a bit of a love triangle forming here. And, just for curiosity’s sake, I imagine reader as right smack between John and Roger’s ages. So, John is 20, reader is 21, Roger is 22.

It had officially been two weeks since “The Party” and your bond with your new friends had only grown stronger—more so with one of them in particular. John had driven you home in a peaceful, companionable silence, the both of you stealing glances at each other and giggling like children whenever you made eye contact. Like a perfect gentleman, he walked you to your door and no further, and left you with an achingly chaste kiss and a promise to call you over the weekend.

You had walked into your flat the next afternoon after a quick run to the shops to your phone ringing, and quickly dumped your shopping onto the counter as you raced to the phone.

“Hello?” you answered breathlessly.

“Uh...(Y/N)?” a familiar voice answered.

“Hi John. Yeah it's me. Just got in.”

“Oh! I'm sorry, I can call back later if you like,” he answered, sounding a little unsure.

“No!” you nearly yelled down the line as you struggled to remove your coat. “I mean, there's no need. Now is perfect. I'm so glad to hear from you, John.”

You had spent the next two hours talking about nothing and everything. And nearly three hours the next afternoon. And an hour every evening since then. The more the two of you spoke, the more convinced you were that John was just about the most interesting man you had ever met. You had gathered just how incredibly intelligent, kind, funny, and hard-working the man was, and the more you knew about him, the more you wanted to know. You simply could not get enough.

Roger had been a frequent presence throughout your workdays, coming to the cafe regularly on his breaks. You always made a point to chat with him for a few minutes, asking his opinion on how things were going with the band (“brilliant!”) and his schooling (“absolute rubbish, I don't know why the bloody hell I try anymore!”) as well as keeping him up to date on your own studies.

Unfortunately, because the band was working so hard, you and John had not had a moment to yourselves since your rendezvous at the after party and the trip home afterward. You had seen him in person once since then, when Freddie dragged you and the boys out shopping for new stage wear. You had tried to worm your way out of it, hearing the slightly manic way Freddie spoke about his plans and knowing it was a bit of a tense topic within the band. However, Freddie insisted you must have some dress sense after he had last seen you in “such a fabulous outfit, darling, you must have at least an ounce of understanding of fashion and I NEED all the help I can get when it comes to these heathens!” Once you had arrived and met up with them outside of Grannie's, you were glad you had come along upon seeing the look on John's face. He clearly wished he was anywhere else on earth in that moment.

You stood next to him and gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze, which he returned gratefully. He seemed much happier to see you there.

“Chin up, buttercup. It'll all be over soon.”

“You've never been shopping with Freddie. You'll eat those words,” he said with a dramatic eye roll before entering the shop behind Brian.

You certainly ate every last bitter word.

“I'll never be doing that again,” you said sternly, pressing the phone to your ear and your free hand over your eyes, trying to find some relief for the headache that had settled in about halfway through the previous evening, sometime between the fifth jacket for Brian and the third belt for Freddie, and stuck with you all day. It had left you feeling unrested and irritable, making your 4 hour shift at the cafe feel more like 12. Thankfully Roger had not come in that day. You were sure you could not have handled the sunny mood he seemed to bring into the shop with him every time you saw him there. You were just about to mention this to John when you heard a voice in the background cut in to the conversation.

“Listen, sweetheart, Freddie's finally showed up and we need to rehearse. Brian's brought in a totally new song and it's going to take some work, so I have to go,” he said softly.

“Do you really have to? I've hardly had a chance to talk to you in three days and barely saw you last night,” you said, not bothering to mask the pout you were sure was evident in your voice.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N), really I am,” he said, then paused. “Tell you what. Tonight probably won't be very pretty, but how about you come along tomorrow night? You can sit in and see a little bit of how we work, and I might actually get to see you for more than 10 seconds at a time. Plus I've got a surprise you might be interested to know about.”

“A surprise? John what have you got up your sleeve?” you ask him, eyes narrowed though he could not see you at the moment.

“Come tomorrow and you'll find out,” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice. “I can pick you up at quarter to eight, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright. But this better be good, mister!” you said as if he was putting a huge imposition on you though you were actually very excited at the prospect of seeing all your friends again and getting to hear them play some more music.

“Great! I'll see you then, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Goodnight, sleep tight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you answered, your now regular goodbye falling naturally from your lips with a small sigh.

You rang off and set about putting your things away and making tea, preparing to settle in for the evening, feeling excited and optimistic for the following day.

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You were once again stood in front of your full wardrobe, staring into it's depths as if somehow your clothes would rearrange themselves and reveal something new that had mysteriously materialized in the last hour you had been rifling through it. A knock sounded on your bedroom door and Sarah's firey head poked in, looking you up and down in surprise.

“(Y/N), why aren't you dressed?! Your ride is here!”

“He what?!” you practically shouted, jumping to your dresser to start rifling through for a clean pair of tights. “He's early! He said he'd be here at quarter to eight!”

“Uhm...,” Sarah pointed to the alarm clock on your bed, which was flashing 7:47. “I'd say he's pretty punctual.”

“Fuck! Sarah what am I going to wear?!” you started flinging sweaters and blouses out of your wardrobe, not really looking at any of them, as Sarah tried not to laugh at you. She quietly stepped forward and pulled out a gold corduroy skirt and striped sweater from the mayhem now strewn across your bed, and pointed silently at the teal blue tights hanging halfway out of one of your dresser drawers. You quickly grabbed the items, smacking a kiss on Sarah's cheek, and pulled them on in record time, managing to fall over only once.

“What would you do without me, huh?” Sarah teased you.

“I have no idea. I owe you one, babe!” you grabbed your purse and pulled on your boots, making your way quickly to the living room to find John standing by the door, wrapped up in a beautiful red coat and grey scarf.

“I'll remember that!” you heard Sarah call from down the hall, but you ignored her, as you only had eyes (and ears) for John at the moment.

“Hi,” you breathed, happy yet nervous to see him again. It was also the first time he had set foot in your flat and you were a little anxious as you had not been prepared for this.

“Hello,” he said softly with a sweet smile. He reached out to take your hand and brushed a soft kiss against your knuckles. His lips were a little chapped and rough against your skin, but you felt warmth bloom from where his skin made contact with your own and radiate across your entire body. You were sure you must be blushing and cursed your decision to only wear the barest amount of make-up tonight, as you probably looked like a walking tomato now. John, however, smiled wider, revealing the cute little gap between his front teeth, his eyes crinkling adorable around the corners, and brushed a thumb across your cheek.

You ducked your head down with a shy smile, addressing your toes when you next spoke. “Shall we head out? We don't want to keep the others waiting.”

John laughed. “Oh I guarantee we could wait another ten minutes and still be the first ones there. Punctuality is not in any of their vocabularies. However, you're probably right. It's started to snow, so we might need to take it slow.”

You reached for your coat hanging near the door, and your scarf beneath it. John took your coat while you knotted the warm wool around your neck, then held your coat out and helped slip it up around your shoulders. You called out to tell Sarah that you were leaving and were not sure when you'd be back. She called out a “have fun and be safe” which caused you to groan internally. Sarah was lucky she was such a good friend, or you might have to kick her to the curb.

John reached for your hand as soon as you had made sure you had your keys and that the door to your flat was firmly shut. He gently swayed your hands between you as you made your way to his car, which he opened for you to get in first. It was still warm from his drive over, and you melted into the comfort immediately. John switched on the radio, and both your faces lit up as the iconic riff of Cream's “Sunshine Of Your Love” sounded through the car's speakers.

“You like Cream?” John asked, eyes twinkling in the low light.

“Yeah of course!” you answered, reaching out to turn the volume up a little. “This bass line is fantastic. Such a feel-good kind of song.”

You both sang along as the funky riff filled the interior of the car, forgetting your earlier shyness and giving in to the fun, arriving at the studio space where Queen was rehearsing just as the song was fading out. John quickly put on the parking brake and turned the engine off before he hopped out and over to the passenger door to help you out. You were honestly amazed by how much of a gentleman he was. You had never been treated in such a manner by anyone before, and just by this simple show of kindness you felt yourself falling for him even more. You had spent so long putting up with Charlie's bullshit, and almost as much time alone since you had broken up with him. It felt like a thousand and one nights, waiting in your loneliness and isolation, and suddenly here was someone treating you like a treasure. You felt warm and happy and a little bit overwhelmed by it, but honestly would not give it up for anything. You were falling hard and fast for this young man you had only known for about a month now, but it felt right.

Lost in your thoughts, you had failed to notice that John was now leading you up a rather steep flight of carpeted stairs, complete with creaks and water stains, to a rather stale-smelling room. It was spacious and well lit, but obviously rarely used up until recently. One corner was piled with a few tables and chairs in various states of disrepair, all obviously pushed out of the way of the makeshift drum riser where a rather large and elaborate kit was set up. A few amps were strewn about the place, as well as what looked like a large speaker case and a few distortion pedals set off to one side. John set his own instrument case down on the opposite side of the drum kit before turning back to where you stood in the middle of the room.

“Can I take your coat for you?” he asked, reaching out nervously before dropping his hands awkwardly to his sides again. You smiled at his adorable awkwardness and quickly shrugged off your coat, handing it and your scarf to him with a word of thanks. He carefully carried them over to one of the tables and laid them down gently. You turned around to take in more of the room, noticing the worn but comfy looking couch against the wall separating the stairway from the room, as well as two doors off the room which you supposed were probably a bathroom and a closet of some sort. You crossed to the couch and took a seat, brushing out any perceived wrinkles in your clothes before smiling up at John.

“Do you mind if I...?” he asked, pointing behind him toward his bass and amp.

“Not at all! You're here to practice, not entertain me. Pretend I'm not even here,” you answered. You were rather excited to be here and potentially hear some new music, but did not want to be an imposition on the band or any of its members.

“Well, I don't think I'll be able to do that,” John flashed you a smile as he pulled his bass out, plugged it in, and started fiddling with volume knobs. You watched in fascination as he tweaked the tuning and tested the tone, setting everything to his exact specifications, before he worked through some riffs to warm up.

Halfway through the third warm up, you heard footsteps on the stairs behind you and turned just in time to see a mop of dark curls peek around the dividing wall at you.

Brian flashed you a quick smile before taking off his coat and moving toward the speaker you had noticed earlier. He sat down on it, reaching behind it to fiddle with something you could not see on the backside, before producing a cord which he plugged into his Red Special. You soon realized it must be an amp, but it was the strangest amp you had ever seen. It looked like a plain speaker, not unlike one your dad had on his own stereo system, and nothing like the other amps and monitors around the room. Brian saw you looking puzzled at it and waved you over. You stood and joined him.

“Impressive, huh?” he said, patting the top of the amp. “Wait until you hear it. It's something special. I bet I spent two hours experimenting with it's capabilities when Deacy brought it in.”

“So it is an amp, then.”

“Mhm,” Brian answered, going about tuning his guitar.

“It looks nothing like any of the others. Is it some kind of special set up for your custom guitar?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” Brian answered with a slight laugh that shook his shoulders. “John made it.”

Your head whipped up to look at Brian, then you spun to look at John. He noticed the sudden movement and stopped in the middle of what he was playing.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide under your scrutiny.

“You made this?” you asked, pointing behind you at the amp.

“Uh...yes?” he answered.

“As in, built the whole thing yourself,” you were amazed, these gents surprised you more and more every day. Not only were they good looking and quite talented, but it seemed they were all geniuses, too.

“Well, sort of,” he answered, and he pulled the strap of his bass over his head, setting it down on a stand to join you next to Brian. “I found the parts to an old transistor in a skip a few months back. Took an old blown speaker, rewired a few things, a little soldering and a 9v battery later and I had a practice amp. Brought it along thinking I could use it here as it doesn't have the best sound quality, but then somebody stole it away and claimed it as his own.”

Brian just stuck his tongue out and went back to his tuning. You stood there in awe, finding yourself somehow even more excited to be invited along that night.

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Finally twenty minutes later the last two members of the band showed up, Roger complaining that he tried to leave on time, but Freddie felt the need to change his shirt no less than four times, causing a fifteen minute delay and for all the parking near by to be filled up by the time they got there, further delaying them as they had to walk two blocks from where they parked. It wasn't until after Roger got this full rant out of the way, tossed his coat aside randomly, and turned to sit behind his kit that he seemed to realize there was an extra person in the room. His face suddenly lit up, his whole attitude changing like someone had flipped a switch.

“(Y/N)? Didn't know you'd be here!” he said, shaking out his long, dark blond hair.

“John invited me along,” you answered. “We've not gotten to see each other for more than 30 seconds since your last show, so I thought I'd take him up on that offer and tag along.”

“Oh,” Roger turned to John with a strange look on his face, but it quickly melted away into a pleasant smile. “Well, (Y/N), get ready to rock'n'roll!”

With that, he planted himself behind his kit and went to town, smashing and banging loud enough to wake the dead. You glanced toward Freddie, who simply rolled his eyes and pulled a notebook from the bag he'd brought with him.

An hour passed by in the blink of an eye, and you were having the time of your life. They played through a few of the songs you recognized, and soon were on to working Brian's new song. After twenty minutes spent arguing on the same chord progression (mostly by Roger and Brian) and eye-rolling (Freddie) the boys finally decided they needed a break to cool down and recharge. Roger and Freddie headed outside for a smoke while Brian headed downstairs for a drink (it was then you realized the rehearsal space was over a small pub) leaving you along with a quiet but clearly annoyed John. You were unsure how to approach him and so just stayed quietly seated, watching him work through another song.

You had leaned back against the couch and closed your eyes for a moment when you suddenly heard a huff and a loud clanging. John had angrily strummed against his bass before putting it down rather forcefully and striding over to one of the doors. He quickly disappeared inside, obviously angry and needing a moment to himself. You decided to give him his space, not wishing to push him too far. A few minutes turned into five, and when you heard no noise and did not see John reemerge from the room, you decided to go ahead and try talking to him.

You stood and slowly crossed to the door, knocking gently and calling to him softly as if speaking to a spooked animal.

“John? Is everything alright?” You reeled back as the door suddenly opened, and you were quickly pulled inside.

“Wha-?” you were silenced as a pair of lips descended upon your own, warm and soft but insistent. You melted against the body in front of you, not realizing just how much you craved another kiss from this man until it was given to you.

Just as quickly as the lips came they were gone as John pulled away, panting slightly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, warm breath fanning across your jaw. “I didn't mean to be so rough. I didn't think they'd fight like this with a guest around. I'm so sorry you had to witness that. I’m just...sorry.”

You carefully reached up toward John's face, cupping his jaw and lifting his eyes up to meet yours which were finally adjusting to the dim light.

“Hey, hey, no, don't be sorry,” you said softly, smiling at him. “You've nothing to be sorry for. Sure it was a little awkward, but bands fight. You guys are all so immensely talented and clearly perfectionists when it comes to your music. Of course you're gonna bicker and pick and disagree. You all expect the best each of you has to offer out of each other. There's nothing wrong with that. It's also clear you all care a lot about each other. I'm not worried about it and you shouldn't be, either.”

Green eyes looked into your own (y/e/c) ones for a moment before John was surging forward again, lips capturing your own in a breathtaking kiss. You answered in kind, your hands once again brushing through thick sideburns and tangling in soft brown locks as you were pressed gently up against the wall behind you. Large hands came to rest on the slight curve of your hips, warm and heavy, a very much welcome presence.

You felt a tongue gently sweep against your lower lip and you parted your own slightly, letting John in. You subconsciously pulled a little tighter on the hair in your fist, which caused John to moan softly. You pulled away, afraid you had hurt him, only for him to chase your mouth and gently pull your lower lip between his teeth. You gasped, pushing your hips against his, tummy brushing against an obvious bulge beginning to form. John whined brokenly as you felt his hands slide around your hips and down to your bum, pulling you flush against him. You no longer knew where you ended and he began, slowly becoming entangled into one being, so lost in each other you had failed to notice the door knob rattle until the door flew open and the dim room was flooded with light.

John took a step back from you as you untangled your hands from his hair, resting them instead against his chest. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you could make out Freddie's surprised face, eyes wide and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry! I just came looking for the-” he tried to explain himself, but was cut short.

“What the fuck?!” a shriek came from the room beyond and you could see Roger standing just a few feet behind Freddie, having just shrugged his coat back off and turned toward the room again. Brian was standing wide eyed but silent in the corner, clutching his guitar and looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. John turned to stand in front of you, blocking you slightly, but you fought your way forward, confused.

“Roger, what's wr-” you were cut off as Roger picked up Brian's beer bottle and threw it, hard, against the wall.

“What the fuck, Rog?” Freddie yelled, shielding his face from the spray of ale and glass. Roger started toward you, but Freddie reached out with a surprising amount of strength and held him back.

“YOU! What the hell, Deacon? I thought you were my friend! What the fuck are you doing?” Roger screamed, fury in his eyes. All you could do was let out a little squeak, slightly terrified at the wild animal before you.

“What the hell is your problem, Roger? I am your friend!” John shouted back, clearly confused.

“You are my problem!” Roger tried once again to lunge forward, but Freddie pushed him back and shouted at him to calm down and be civilised. Roger stood still and tense, breathing heavily like an enraged bull readying to charge.

Brian was still quiet and frozen like a deer in headlights at the other side of the room. Freddie was looking between the two angry men with a furrowed brow, an arm out in front of Roger to hold him back. John continued to look confused and a little hurt, and you had begun to silently cry, also confused and hurt, as well as overwhelmed by the roller-coaster of emotion you were on.

You locked eyes with Roger for a brief moment, and his face immediately crumpled. He no longer looked angry, just defeated.

“You know what? Fuck this,” he said quietly, then a little louder, “Fuck this! This practice is over.”

The four others in the room could only watch as the blond stormed over to where his still snow-dusted coat was draped over a chair, grabbing it angrily before banging his way down the stairs and slamming the door.

John turned to check that you were okay, cupping your face and swiping at your tears before pulling you in and holding you close as sobs wracked your body. You had no clue what had just happened, but the feral creature you had just witnessed was nothing like your friend. He looked and sounded like the man you had come to enjoy spending so much time talking with at work, the man who you had come to regard as one of your best friends, but his actions had been terrifying. You felt that you had triggered this meltdown, but you were completely unsure why.

As your tears subsided, you could hear John speaking angrily with Freddie between attempts to soothe you. He himself sounded rather shaky, and Freddie sounded shocked and breathless. You finally pulled away from John to reach out to Freddie and pull him and John to the couch with you. John wrapped an arm around you as Freddie smoothed your hair away from your face.

“Freddie, w-what just happened?” you pleaded with him.

“I’m...not sure, darling,” he answered slowly, exchanging a glance with John over your head. “But there better be a damn good explanation for this.”

“Bri's gone after him,” John chimed in, voice still shaky with anger and hurt. “Hopefully he'll catch up with him and keep him from doing anything stupid.”

All you could do was nod in agreement, leaning closer into John's side as Freddie held onto your hand, the three of you left to wait for any word from Brian.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning to all the Roger stans; it gets better, and then it doesn't. I'm so sorry. I love him, too, but for storytelling purposes I'm gonna hurt him. I'm sorry.


End file.
